


All the world was not enough to forget you

by Someonewhosfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Getting Together, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post Copa del Rey win, champions league final, kind of character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Someonewhosfunny/pseuds/Someonewhosfunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xabi should be celebrating. Real Madrid had just won the Copa and Barcelona were almost guaranteed to finish the season without any silverware. Xabi should've been happy, but instead, his focus was on another club in another city, where their eyes were locked on a different trophy. And the captain Xabi desperately wanted to talk to was not Iker Casillas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by a poem I read online that had no cited author. So I give full credit to wherever its due.

The sun was baking the Madrid pavement, reflecting off the white surface to blind the people milling about. The square was filled with people in various states; a good deal were still drunk from the night before. The magnificent celebration at la cibeles, a result of the long awaited Copa Del Rey win, had been in full swing a few short hours ago, right into the morning. The streets were still covered in confetti, small white pieces resembling snow. Or so Xabi had thought last night when, in his drunken state, he had tried to catch them in his mouth. Or at least that’s the story the picture on his phone told, with the caption from Arbeloa, “ _Xabi’s dreaming of a white copa win! Jajaja!_ ”  

Looking out at the square now and remembering (or attempting to remember) the events of last night, Xabi ran a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor of his hotel room. He was glued to the window, watching people’s elation and wondering why didn’t feel as happy as they did. This was his club, the best club in the world, that had finally beaten their bitter rivals (for the first time this season) to win the King’s Cup of Spain. He should be teeming with pride, like Sergio or Iker, or bubbling with elation like Cristiano or Gareth. Only, he wasn’t.

He was sitting alone in a hotel room he rented all by himself so that he could hide the fact that _he was not happy_. And it’s not like Xabi _wanted_ to be miserable. He felt guilty enough about his feelings without having everyone else know. He didn’t want to take away from their win, to concern his friends and family with his ridiculous problem. It was selfish and greedy for him to be sitting here, with a big piece of silverware in his possession and the hopes of two more cups before the year was finished, wishing for something more. Wishing to be in another city, in another hotel, with hopes of winning a different trophy, one he could never win in Spain.

He had more silverware then he knew what to do with. World Championships, European titles, The Champion’s League, La Liga, etc. They meant more than he could even comprehend. They should satisfy his hunger for accolades, but somehow that wasn’t enough. It seemed impossible that he could still desire any trophy, but to be fair, he had never won a Premier League title before. Xabi hadn’t even known how badly he wanted that league title until he was sitting in his living room watching Sky Sports (yes, he paid for English television channels, so sue him) and the only thing anyone could talk about was Liverpool finally winning the league. The news had stung a bit in his chest, but Xabi pushed it aside, had decided not to think about it. And he was successful until right after the Copa final.

When the dressing room celebration had ceased and everyone was off to get ready for the celebration later that evening, Xabi finally had a chance to check his phone. He had a plethora of texts from friends and some teammates from the national team (mostly the guys in England, as most of the Barcelona players had either given their congratulations on the field or were too bitter to comment). He sent a message to his wife and another to his brother. Fernando’s message was filled with a lot of exclamations and smiley faces and it made Xabi miss him more than usual. When he was finally in the confined silence of his car, Xabi decided to dial up his voice mail. There was only one message in his box and Xabi had an inkling of who it was from.

            “Hey Xabi lad,” a warm voice began. “I was down the pub with some of me mates and I caught your match. Bloody brilliant, you are. Play just as well as I remember, mate. Those bleedin barca fookers had no chance! Well em sure ya got a lot o’celebratin to do tonight, so I just wanted to say congrats, mate.” And then, quietly, in a voice less assured and less casual, he continued. “You look good.”

            Xabi felt his pulse quicken and he felt like someone was trying to crush his chest, pain almost worse than during that incident against Holland. He closed his eyes, the sound of the man’s voice running through his head in a loop. _You look good. You look good. You look good._

            He’d missed the sound of that stupid scouse accent more than he allowed himself to be aware of on a daily basis. It was as if, in those few moments, he had been transported back in time. Suddenly, it wasn’t the Copa he wanted to be celebrating. He wanted a champion’s league trophy in his hands tonight. He wanted flashes of red and the reverent singing of “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Xabi wanted Istanbul. And he wanted Stevie.

            So naturally he got drunk out of his mind and said a quick prayer to God that he was always a happy drunk. Walking a straight line was difficult before he even got to the square. He was surprised the higher ups even allowed him to stay on the bus. But the alcohol had done its job. Xabi was happy, smiling and cheering with the rest of his team.

            Only, the high that the alcohol brought quickly wore off when he woke up the next morning. But this, he had expected. Hence the solitude. Xabi knew he would have to face reality eventually, and he knew it would be too ugly for others to witness. Especially Nagore.

            The last thing Xabi wanted anyone to see was him crying. Because it didn’t matter how hard he tried to forget, he couldn’t escape the sadness. Madrid was everything it promised to be, but that didn’t matter to Xabi. Madrid could never satisfy him because it wasn’t Liverpool. He’d left his heart in that cold and bitter city and it couldn’t be retrieved no matter how hard he tried. He could travel to every city in the world and never find one that could make him forget about that Merseyside metropolis.

            With no regard for the time in England, Xabi tore himself from his perch at the window and called a familiar number.

            “Hello?”

            “Hello Fernando,” he greeted.

            “Xabi! Congrats again! I’m surprised you’re coherent! I heard you were pretty drunk last night.”

            Fernando’s voice made Xabi feel a little better and he chuckled softly as his friend teased him.

            “Hey! At least _I_ didn’t drop our cup off the front of the bus. This time _or_ last.”

            “Fair enough,” Fernando conceded. “That could only happen to Sergio Ramos.”

            “Good thing it was him, too! I would’ve died. Can you imagine?”

            “No. I think I would’ve thrown myself off the bus, too.”

            The two friends laughed and joked for a few moments before Xabi decided to get to the point.  

            “Niño, do you ever miss Liverpool?”

            “Liverpool? The club?”

            “Well, yeah. But the city, too. Do you miss _Liverpool_?”

            “Not exactly. I like London very much. The kids like it here. It’s good. I’m settled. London is a good place to raise a family, less industrial than Liverpool I would say.”

            Fernando paused thoughtfully.

            “Do you?”

            Xabi sighed. “Yeah. And I don’t know why.”

            “Maybe it’s not the city so much as the memories. Maybe it’s like how I feel for Madrid. I miss the sunshine because it reminds me of being a young boy at the beach with my parents. And I miss the nightlife and how I used to go out with my friends. I miss the memories of being in Madrid, but things are different now. I can always go back and remember and feel what I felt, but it will always be different, because I am different. You know?”

            Xabi was quiet for a moment.

            “But it’s different for you,” Fernando decided.

            He was met with more silence, but he waited. And Xabi was grateful that he had a friend as patient as Fernando.

            “I just feel like I can’t be happy here in Madrid. Not all the time. Just sometimes. I remember it being better than it is I think, but its impossible to stop idealizing Liverpool.”

            “Ah. And what brought on this nostalgia for your old home?”

            “Stevie called me.”    

            “Oh, Xabi…”

            Fernando’s voice was full of pity and Xabi swallowed thickly, feeling silly.

            “It’s not a big deal. Just made me think of Liverpool is all.”

            “Xab, you don’t have to act like that…” Fernando insisted.

            “I’m not. Really, Fer. It’s fine. I’m fine,” he insisted.

            The pair was silent for a moment, as Xabi tired to keep it all together and Fernando tried to find words.

            “It’s okay to love him,” he began hesitantly.

            “It’ll never work,” Xabi insisted, voice ringing with finality.

            “Okay,” Fernando conceded, not wanting to push him further.

            “But I really, really wish it could.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xabi's sour mood won't seem to go away and some of his Real Madrid teammates take notice. Featuring a small Liverpool flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to keep going and this is what I've produced! I hope you enjoy it!

             Xabi had always been quiet. He preferred to read books and write in journals and just _take in_ the world rather than actively participate in it. It was a fact that everyone accepted, but today, he was slight more reserved, not that many people could notice. To an extrovert like Marcelo, it was nearly unperceivable, but Iker’s captain’s instincts told him something was wrong. After their training session, Iker caught up with him as he was leaving the pitch.

            “Hey hombre. Everything okay?”

            Slowing his steps, Xabi stopped in front of Iker and sighed slightly. He thought about lying and walking away, putting on a happy face and telling the captain not to worry, but he knew that he’d given himself away by sighing and now Iker’s eyes turned more worried

            “I just…” Xabi knew there was no tiptoeing around the issue. “Stevie called me the other day. And I didn’t call him back.”

            Iker raised his eyebrows and Xabi felt the need to continue.

            “I uh texted him, though.”

            “Xabi… Xabi… Xabi…” Iker said sadly.

            His tone made the midfielder a little self conscious and a bit defensive.

            “What?” he snapped.

            “You’re breaking the poor guy’s heart.”

            Still cross, Xabi’s cheeks flamed red. No, that’s not what this was about. Steven was the one who called him. Steven was the one who could be so frustrating, so infuriating. Steven was the one who made him forget all the reasons why _coming to Madrid was the right decision_. And so was cutting all his strings back in Liverpool (or trying without success).

            On his last day in Liverpool, Stevie had cornered him in the dressing room. It was empty, save the two of them, and each word said was punctuated by an echo off the wall. Xabi’s chest felt heavy and he fought to keep composure. Xabi Alonso was nothing if not composed, robotically so, on every occasion. But just because he was used to the mask didn’t mean it was easy to attain, especially around Steven Gerrard.

           “We’re a pair of bloody idiots and you know it as well as I do, Xabi.”

           Stevie was pacing back and forth as Xabi sat on the bench, stuffing the last of his belongings into a bag. He couldn’t meet Stevie’s eyes, but he shook his head slightly.

           He didn’t want to _know_ anything. He wanted to just leave this town and cut Stevie out of his life forever, but he knew that that was impossible. Steven was unforgettable. _Too   good to be true_. Xabi was addicted to him and the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy and how his mouth formed a boxy smile. The way he held the set of his shoulders on the pitch, like he was humbled just to be playing the game he grew up loving more than anything else. But Xabi hated to see Steven when he was sad, when his nose scrunched up and he looked so young, so lost, before he’d hide his face in his arm or his jersey and try to wish away the pain. Xabi had been there with Stevie through the good and the bad and somehow during that time the man had weaved himself into the fibers of Xabi’s heart. To try and remove him now would mean certain death. Or something close to it.

            But he was leaving and it was better to just leave all of his feelings here in this familiar dressing room because nothing could ever work out. Madrid may as well be a million miles away. Soon, Xabi would be in another dressing room with a different captain and hopefully not such a sick feeling in his stomach.

            So what if Xabi was completely gone for Steven Gerrard? That didn’t mean he would risk his career for him. That didn’t mean he would stay and play for a club that took him for granted. That didn’t mean he would give up the chance of winning more trophies, just because of the man standing before him. (Although Xabi would later learn that winning trophies, no matter how many, would feel strangely hollow without Stevie to share them with). The feeling of his heart being gouged out, of his ribs being beaten, was not enough to keep him in Liverpool.

            “Stevie, stop it.”

            But Steven wasn’t taking that. He stopped pacing and looked intensely down at the Spaniard, who had no choice but to look up and meet his searching gaze.

            “No. I know you love me.”

            There was pain and desperation and longing in his eyes. Steven was handing him the world in one glance, the promise of a future - of _forever_ , and Xabi had no choice but to destroy it. He had to crush the world because sometimes to love meant to lie.

            “You’re wrong.”

            So Xabi left the dressing room, left a slack jawed ex captain, and later boarded a plane to Madrid and never looked back. (Or so he liked to pretend).

            So yeah, Xabi got a bit angry when people said things like Iker did. He didn’t want to hear about Steven being broken hearted. He knew. He’d seen the lost look in those eyes before he stormed out of the dressing room and he remembers the bile that rose to his throat when he realized that not even the first 45 minutes in Istanbul could make Steven look that _hopeless_. So Xabi tried to push that look out of his mind and forget Steven Gerrard even existed. But a plan like that was always destined to fail.  

            Every interviewer, it seemed, hard their heart set on asking Xabi about Liverpool. It didn’t matter if he was supposed to be talking about the next league fixture or their Champions League run, the only thing anyone seemed to care about was Liverpool.

            “So Xabi, have you been following you old club, Liverpool, lately?”

            “Absolutely, absolutely!” he replied pleasantly. “Whenever I’m not on duty, I keep an eye on the Reds. I’m really excited.”

            He faked smiles as it was his job to and tried to convey the utmost sincerity, because he did in fact still love that club with every threadbare fiber his heart could spare. It was just difficult to talk about how happy he was for them when he had so many emotions swirling in his head.

            For days (that felt like weeks and months and years), he tried to bury the emotion stirring inside him, but everyone he knew could tell something was not right. Cristiano gave him a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile at training. Isco did little favors like offering Xabi pieces of his granola bars or sips of his favorite flavor Gatorade. Iker kept a close and cautious eye on him, being one of the only people to understand a bit of why Xabi was so down. Arbeloa knew too, from their time together at Liverpool, but he didn’t ask any questions. He was following the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy of Liverpool and for the first time Xabi found it oppressive.

            When Sergio came knocking on his door, Xabi knew he had reached a new low. If Sergio Ramos was taking action, he must really be a pathetic mess. Because Sergio was a lot more perceptive than people gave him credit for, but it took a lot for him to use his sensitivity to come right out and help people. He usually tried to lift people’s spirit with humor and teasing, but since Xabi had not been responding to that, he knew he had to get serious. Everyone was walking on egg shells around Xabi and it had to stop.

            Luckily, Nagore and the kids were out when Sergio came bounding in, loud and demanding.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “What do you mean?” was the reply Xabi settled with, deciding to play dumb for as long as possible.

            “I’m not _blind_ , Xabi. Something is wrong. Your mood since the Copa has been tragic!”

            “It’s nothing. I swear.”

            Sergio gave him a look of disbelief before sighing. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just be sitting in your living room watching TV until you change your mind,” he threatened mildly, like he was taunting a small child.

            Xabi fell for the bait.

            “Alright, alright. Calm down! I’m just upset about Stevie.”

            “As in Gerrard?” Sergio asked, clearly not expecting his friend’s answer.

            “Yeah.”

            “Oh well… why are you upset about Gerrard?”

             Xabi didn’t know how much Sergio knew about Stevie. Sure, he knew about Xabi being teased on the National team, but he didn’t know how much knowledge he had on the situation itself, not that there was much to have. Nothing had happened between the two, or at least – not enough. Still, Xabi expected Sergio knew, as always, more than he let on. He and Fernando were too close for him not to know something.

            “Can I ask you a question?” Xabi replied instead. “How do you make things work with Fernando?”

             Sergio sighed, pulling up a chair and motioning for Xabi to sit too, which was mildly annoying since _they were in Xabi’s house_. But the way Sergio was sitting, backwards on the chair with his arms resting on top of the back, was so at ease that Xabi decided not to fight him. He just pulled up a chair and waited for him to speak.

            “Well, it’s really hard for us to visit each other. The transfer rumors would start up like mad if I was caught in London. It’s easier for Fernando to be in Madrid, with his family here, but it’s still not easy. National call ups are out time to be together, as you know,” he explained, smiling slightly.

            “But do you miss him?” Xabi asked.

            “Of course. I’m in love with him, Xabi. I want to be with him all the time. I wish more than anything that he had stayed in Madrid with me, where we could’ve maybe had a house to share somewhere, so that we could wake up in the mornings together in bed. But he had to leave for his career. So now its harder, but maybe not for so long. One day, football will end and maybe we will get what we always wanted. If it is true love, then why not?”

            “I suppose so,” Xabi said, not exactly convinced, but a bit jealous of Sergio’s self assurance.

            “Can I ask _you_ a question, Xabi?” Sergio ventured, eyes cautious.

            “Okay…”

            “Do you ever wonder if you made the wrong decision? Never telling him how you feel.”

            Xabi studied Sergio’s face, trying to gauge how much he should say. Because yes, of course there were times when Xabi wished that Steven could know how much he loved him. But at the time, he thought it would be best to keep that private, to never let Steven know what could’ve been because that would surely have hurt him more. A few years later, Xabi wasn’t so sure that hiding the truth was less painful. But still, it changed nothing. Whether Stevie knew or not, they could never work out.

            “I can’t afford to think like that.”

            And when Sergio gave him a pitying look, he looked down at his hands, feeling worse than he had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst. Ah. I usually don't like to post until its all done, but I figured, this could be an ending if I choose not to keep going. I'm on a bit of a role with writing so we'll see what happens! I am thinking of continuing for a few more chapters. Let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank my best friend for being the driving force behind this work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xabi should've known. Phone conversations with Scousers never went the way they were supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit... part of this was difficult to write because I'm not a Liverpool fan so I'm not exactly devastated about the chain of events that occurred at the end of the season, but I respect the club and I love the characters so I think I did an okay job. Anyway, here it is. Finally a new chapter.

             Xabi tried to call Stevie. He really did. He sat with his phone for hours trying to work up the nerve. It burned a hole into the side table on his bed, but he still couldn’t pick it up and dialed the Scouser’s number. What was he suppose to say?

_“Hey Stevie. Everyone keeps asking me about you and it’s just hard to keep a straight face all the time. Because of course I’m happy for you and of course I’m watching as you get closer and closer to success. But I also love you and you’re so far away and I don’t know if you love me too.”_

            Unfortunately, that wouldn’t exactly go over well. So he was content to wait until the perfect moment came. Maybe after they won the prem he could go down for a visit and tell Steven everything he should’ve said years ago.

            But as it turned out, nothing went the way it should have. Xabi seemed to attract sadness like a magnet. He had thought watching Liverpool _win_ the trophy would be hard, but he had completely disregarded the possibility that he could watch them _lose_ it. When he saw the sadness in Stevie’s stance after his slip against Chelsea, it was more painful that watching him give the huddle speech against City or his almost tears after their win against Norwich. Because as much as it hurt Xabi to see Steven so happy without it him, it hurt a million times more to see him miserable. Stevie didn’t deserve to feel misery and Xabi felt nauseous at the thought of how horrible it must feel to have the title slip so quickly.

            He wanted to call Steven as soon as he watched the Chelsea game. He was home, with the day off from work, and glued to the TV. As he saw Steven slip, he cringed, barely able to watch Demba Ba slot the ball into the back of the net. But he kept hope that they could still win it. They were Liverpool and Liverpool could do anything. They were a club built on dreams and they had the ability to do the impossible. Like Istanbul. But when Fernando had the ball at his feet and a teammate to his right with only the keeper to beat out, Xabi knew, as well as anyone else, that their title hopes were nearly dead.

            He didn’t call right away. He couldn’t. He stared at his phone but the timing was never good. Finally, when it was almost too late to be socially acceptable, he dialed the familiar number and tried not to squirm nervously as he waited for Steven to pick up.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi Steven,” he breathed, a bit hesitantly.

            “Xabi! Mate, how are you?”

            “I’m sorry,” Xabi spit out, uncharacteristically spontaneous. He was a man who valued pleasantries very highly, but not in this moment.

            Steven didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t really anything _to_ say. It sucked. It hurt and he blamed himself, but that was football. And football was one hell of an unforgiving bastard sometimes.

            “We can still do it,” he decided to say. “We play the next games really well and City drop points-”

            Xabi cut him off, speaking slowly. “I didn’t call to talk about football. I didn’t call as a former teammate, Stevie. I called as a friend. I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

            Steven felt himself flushing out of embarrassment, but Xabi’s words sparked a bit of bitterness in him.

            “You’re sorry I’m hurting? Well, that’s rich, mate. Coming from you.”

            The Englishman didn’t know what came over him then, why he said that, but he was tired of internalizing the feeling of injustice he felt towards the other man.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Xabi asked evenly.

            “ _You_ hurt me. You left me in a locker room, broken hearted, and flew away to Spain. Or do you not remember that? Was I so insignificant that the whole thing is forgotten in your mind?” Steven’s tone wasn’t exactly angry (it had been far too long for him to still be angry). It was accusatory, sour. Things between them were over. It was years ago, but just because he wasn’t angry anymore didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

            “That’s not fair.”

            “Why?” Stevie exploded. “Don’t be daft. It bloody well is fair and you bloody well know it!”

            “You can’t tell me what I know and don’t know, Steven. You don’t know anything.”

            Xabi’s voice was steely and emotionless. He was the opposite of Steven, always had been. Xabi didn’t show his feelings very often, didn’t show grief or passion. Stevie, on the other hand, wore all of his emotions as clearly as he could. There were written all over his face so that even a man sitting way up in the stands of the Kop could see what he was feeling. His emotions were in his face, in this tone, and in the set of body. Right now, Xabi could hear it in his every word.

            “Well I can tell you that you never gave a damn about me!”

            “You know _nothing_ ,” Xabi growled. “Dense, pigheaded, _idiota_.”

            “Fine! Enlighten me, Xabi, because it _fooken_ seemed like it. I though that you loved me and you told me I was wrong.”

            “So that means you meant nothing to me? So all the years I was in Liverpool didn’t mean anything anymore because of one comment?! You know what, Stevie. I’m sorry I called. I’m sorry you lost your game today. And I’m sorry I always do the wrong thing. But good luck in the rest of your season. I really hope you win it all.”

            Xabi hung up the phone and slumped into the couch underneath him. _Wrong._ Everything was wrong. That was not what was meant to happen. They weren’t supposed to get angry. Xabi was supposed to tell him how he’s loved him since the day they first spoke, and since that day he’s been more gone for Steven than he knew he could ever be in his life. But he couldn’t say that now. He was too stubborn, or too romantic. Xabi couldn’t tell Steven the most important news of his life when they were fighting. He couldn’t say _I love you_ when they were throwing bitter insults back and forth. It would be taking away from every feeling he had ever felt for the man. It would make his words cheap and insincere. An easy way to resolve their fight. So he didn’t tell him. He couldn’t. If Steven had thrown his words right back in his face (like Xabi had admittedly done to him), he would not have been able to recover. So Xabi was a coward and he played it safe, but now he didn’t know if he would ever get a chance to tell Steven the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! There will definitely be more of this story. Sorry that this chapter was a little rushed and short. If you see any problems at all (grammatically or otherwise), feel free to point them out to me. I hope this was okay. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Katie, this chapter (and this whole work) is for you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some point, things have to get better for Xabi Alonso. But apparently, that point as not been reached yet. The universe continues to plot against Xabi as his life reaches a new low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter got really sad because Oblivion by Bastille came on and ouch.

            Xabi’s mood was at an all time low, but he had more important things to worry about than Steven Gerrard. Like, how Real Madrid had secured a place in the Champions League Final, but Xabi was ineligible to play. It was horrible, knowing he would have to watch the final in the stand, with no chance of making an impact, but it was his own fault. He was so distracted with his personal life that he had allowed himself to make such a _careless_ error. And he knew it as soon as he went for the challenge that there was no way he would walk away without a card. So he stayed on the ground, praying for it to open up and swallow him whole.

            Unfortunately, the ground stayed intact and the game went on. When the finale whistle blew, it was clear. He wouldn’t be playing in the Champions League final, but at least his team was in it. _His_ team was having a successful season. On the other hand, Liverpool fans were heartbroken. The team had not been able to win the league after their defeat against Chelsea and gave the trophy to Manchester City. Again, Xabi thought about calling Stevie, but he couldn’t. There was nothing left to say. Sergio and Iker, however, thought differently.

            After Sergio had forced the information out of him (Y _es, I called him. But it went horribly_ _wrong and we’ll never talk again!),_ the two had tried to think of a solution. But life was busy. Iker and Sergio were both new fathers and professionals, struggling with sleepless nights and the stress of the impending final. There wasn’t much time to worry about Xabi. Only he had the time to stress over the doomed predicament of his feelings for Steven and his troubled marriage.

            Xabi loved with wife. He did. Nagore was perfect and so was the family they created. But some part of him would always love Steven. Nagore made him happy, but Steven made him feel _alive_. The Englishman made him feel everything more passionately (hate or love, heartbreak or euphoria) like the man’s own fiery personality was contagious. He was satisfied with his wife, but he felt like there was something missing, something only Stevie could give him. But he knew, had repeated to himself a million times, that it was impossible for them to ever work out. So being happy with Nagore was better than being alone, but it wasn’t exactly fair.

            She had noticed his recent change in mood and one day, when he was laying in bed in the middle of the afternoon, she’d decided to confront him. The kids were out with Xabi’s brother, Mikel, so they had the house to themselves.

            She came in the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

            “You’ve been sad,” she began.

            Xabi just stared up at her, waiting for her to keep talking.

            “Is it football? Are you not happy at the club?”

            She wore a worried look on her face, but her eyes were steely. She wanted to hear the truth.

            “No. The club is fine. Madrid is great.”

            “Is it the final?”

            “I’m disappointed,” Xabi admitted. “But its okay. I’m not upset about it.”

            “Then what’s wrong?”

            Xabi wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t say it. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his face like a child. Patient as always, Nagore gently pulled it away from his face and stroked his cheek. He felt something like guilt stab him deeply in the stomach and he thought he was going to be sick from the nerves. He never wanted to hurt her. She didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help loving Stevie. He never wanted to. It made everything hard and loving that man wouldn’t give him anything that loving Nagore would. But he couldn’t control who his heart longed for and unfortunately it was for Stevie.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            “What did you do?” she asked without being accusatory or angry. Sometimes she was so much like Xabi, so good at hiding her emotions, that it scared him.

             “I – nothing. I didn’t do anything,” he stuttered.

             “Then why are you sorry?”

             “I can’t say it.”

            Xabi’s face was scrunched up in pain, eyes desperate and mouth ajar, but pulled into a frown.

            Xabi’s face was scrunched up in pain, eyes desperate and mouth ajar, but pulled into a frown.

            “You can tell me anything, Xabi. You know that.”

            This time her voice was soft and Xabi couldn’t help but sit up and wrap her in a hug.

            “I’m in love with Steven Gerrard.”

            To her credit, she didn’t pull away from the hug right away. She waited, collected her thoughts, before she pulled away.

            “Oh Xabi…”

            He looked down, feeling shame and guilt, which he rarely experienced in his adult life. Xabi was a proud man, but right now he felt like a boy.

            “Why did you marry me?” she asked softly.

            “I love you,” he promised earnestly. “Nagore, I do love you. Nothing was fake about my feelings for you. I still love you, more than any woman I’ve ever known. But I can’t help how I feel. I don’t _want_ to feel like this anymore. I don’t want to be in love with Steven. I don’t _want_ to ruin our marriage or our family. I just want to stop feeling, but I can’t.”

            “I love you, too, Xabi. I’m mad, but I still love you. I’m devastated, but I can’t be angry with you. You can’t help who you love. But you can help who you hurt. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to wait around for you to make up your mind. You might not be able to have Steven, but that doesn’t mean you settle for me, okay? I’m not going to do this.”

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “I mean, I’m not going to be a second choice. I love you and I will always be in your life, but I won’t be your wife for show.”

            And through his devastation, Xabi felt pride that this was the woman who he married, the one with as much self respect and pride as he had. She wasn’t going to be tied down and he could only respect her for that, despite the pain it caused.

            “Are you leaving me?”

            “I’m hurt. And I need time away. I think you better stay with a friend for a few weeks while we figure things out.”

            Xabi nodded, understanding that it was for the best.

            “I’ll always love you,” he promised sadly.

            “And I’ll always be your best friend, Xabi. Things don’t have to be bitter or weird. I want to be in your life forever, but not this way. Not when you’re not all in. I won’t be married to a man in love with someone else.”

            Xabi closed his eyes, feeling the weight of this situation wash over him. He hadn’t meant to end his marriage, but it didn’t seem like it was his choice. He was happy with Nagore, but now it was over. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Xabi felt sadness for the end of his marriage, his first and thus far only marriage with a woman he was so incredibly fond of. He knew he would need time to grieve about it, time to heal. They both would. But they would be together during it, trying to do what was best for their whole family.

Xabi felt nervous as he packed his things. He had already called Iker and asked if he could stay there for a while. Iker had agreed, no questions asked, but with the promise of an explanation when Xabi got there. He was nervous, uncharacteristically so, at his uncertain future. The thought of stepping outside his front door made his chest ache in dread. But at the door waiting to say goodbye was Nagore, looking as strong and beautiful as always. Xabi felt sheepish around her. He felt small and shameful and his head bowed under her powerful presence. But she pulled him into a hug, promising to call him tomorrow, and he was remind that she was also a soft, tender, and loving woman. When he backed away, he planted a kiss on her forehead, well aware that Nagore was the strongest person he had ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried really hard to make Nagore a realistic female characters, but I don't know if I succeeded. I didn't exactly want to get into Xabi's marriage, but it had to happen. Please, let me know what you think! I love to hear feedback! Also, I am writing the next part now so it should be up relatively soon. Maybe the next few days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is getting involved with Xabi's drama, much to his displeasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I got stuck half way through writing this. The kudos and comments mean everything to me, so thank you. Here is the next bit. I hope its okay!

            News that Xabi was staying at Iker’s house spread among the team like wildfire. Every day in training, Xabi felt eyes on him. With every movement, he was reminded of what had happened. But if he was affected by it, he didn’t let it show. Xabi trained as he always did, kept his head up high and an indifferent expression on his face. He was polite and pleasant and some of his teammates were convinced he was a robot because how could anyone be this _okay_? How could be come in to training everyday and act as if his entire life had not just been altered? It was because he was Xabi Alonso and he was nothing if not professional at all times.

            Everyone felt badly for the midfielder. They threw him pitying glances that he ignored and tried to pretend everything was normal even though it was far from it. No one wanted to bring it up, to be the one to remind him by saying the words out loud. So they’d all agree to the pact of silence. All except one.

            When Arbeloa heard the news, whispered in the dressing room by Isco and Morata, he had been hurt. He and Xabi were friends, good friend for years, on the national team, at Liverpool, and now at Real Madrid. He and Carlotta often spent the weekends with Xabi and Nagore. He was baffled as to why Xabi wouldn’t have told him, one of his closest friends, that he was separating from his wife.

            So during a break in training, he did what no other teammate was willing to do. He walked right up to Xabi and, without any introductions, asked him right out.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you and Nagore were separating?”

            Xabi didn’t even look up at him, just kept his eyes trained on the ground and spoke and softly as he could.

            “Can we please not do this now?”

            “Xab, we’ve been friends for year. And I had to hear that news from _Isco_ and _Morata_.”

            There was pain in Alvaro’s voice and Xabi’s resolve broke.

            “I know we’re friends. I just… I couldn’t say it. You and Carlotta are so close to Nagore. I was afraid that… I don’t know…” he trailed off.

            “You were afraid I would take her side?” Arbeloa asked, finally understanding. “Xabi, I would never do that.”

            “You might change your mind when you hear the whole story,” Xabi warned mournfully.

            “What happened?”

            “She left me,” he replied.

            “Why would she do that? I didn’t see this coming at all.”

            “I told her something.”

            “What did you tell her?” he asked, the hint of annoyance in his voice. He was getting frustrated with his friend’s cryptic remarks.

            “Are you sure you want to know?”

            Xabi’s tone was so upset that Arbeloa’s anger quickly transitioned into worry. Seeing this much emotion from Xabi was so unexpected that he had half a mind to stop the conversation all together, but he was desperate to know what had his friend so torn up.

            “I’m in love with someone else. Another… I know we have this unspoken rule not to talk about this, but you wanted to know. I’m in love with Stevie and I can’t hide it anymore.”

           “Stevie… Oh, Xabi.”

            Alvaro gave him a look of curiosity and pity, and Xabi wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He ducked his head and willed for this conversation to be over. It was too much, too hard, too real, now that he had said it out loud to someone who didn’t already know. He had left his wife (well, she had left him) because he was in love with a married man, who probably didn’t love him. It was ridiculous and Xabi felt incredibly foolish.

            “Stop. Please.”

            “What?” Alvaro asked softly.

            “I just want to be alone, okay?”

            Arbeloa knew how Xabi was, how he hated to show any emotion, so he listened to his request. He nodded at his friend, touched his shoulder, and walked away. He knew Xabi needed to break down by himself, that he didn’t want anyone to witness this, to know how much he was hurting from this. But Arbeloa didn’t necessarily agree. He knew it probably wasn’t his place, that he didn’t have the right, but he wanted Steven to know, to understand what was going on with Xabi. So despite his better judgment, as soon as he entered his car, he pulled out his phone.

            “Fernando? Hi it’s Alvaro. We need to talk about Xabi.”

            “If it’s about his separation, I know. Sergio told me.”

            Fernando sounded tired, sad. Like maybe he had his own things going on or he could somehow relate to Xabi more than Alvaro knew. But now was not the time to inquire about Fernando. He’d called about Xabi.

            “What do we do?” he asked helplessly.

            “What do you mean? It’s not our marriage. And I’m not even in the country. I don’t see how I can help.”

            “But don’t you think Steven should _know_? A man left his wife for him and he has absolutely no clue.”

            “What do you want to do?” Fernando laughed humorlessly. “Call him up and tell him? This situation is messy enough without us getting involved, Arbie.”

            Alvaro didn’t laugh. He only replied quietly, “I would want to know.”

            “I don’t see what telling him would do.”

            “Maybe things could work out for them.”

            Fernando thought about it. He tried to put himself in Stevie’s shoes, but he would never be Stevie. He was too much like Xabi. Too skeptical, too cynical. Practical without ever thinking about his emotions, about what would make him happy. Because once he had been in a position to make a similar choice; whether he would stay with Sergio when he went to England. Fernando had been terrified. He was going to a new country by himself and leaving his love. The only time he would be able to see him would be international break and maybe the summer. He thought the distance was too far, that it would take more energy than he had to make things work between them. They were both professionals, busy with their own careers. How could Fernando give his relationship what it deserved if he was trying to make a name for himself, do something with his life? Fernando wanted a clean slate. He wanted a painless break and then he would disappear forever. Because what if they made it a few years? Then what? Their path may never cross easily again so why drag out something destined to fail?

            But Sergio was the opposite. He wanted to be with Fernando no matter what. I didn’t matter to him if he could have two minutes of Fernando’s time a month; he wanted the man he loved to be his. Because a world without Fernando was not one Sergio had any desire to live in. He wanted to give their love a shot, because to him it was worth it. And eventually, he had convinced Fernando of this.

            “Fine,” Fernando sighed. “We’ll tell him. But that’s it. I don’t want to be involved beyond that.”

            And that’s how, only three days later, Fernando found himself on the doorstep of a certain Steven Gerrard. He hadn’t been to Liverpool for pleasure since he’d left and he knew if there was just one picture of him taken today, there would be riots, but he’d promised Arbeloa that he’d do this in person.

            When Stevie answered the door, Fernando was holding his breath.

            “Oh lad. I didn’t expect you to be at me door. Come in. How are ye?”

            The young man had the decency to look bashful as he walked into Stevie’s house. His face was flushed pink, even to the top of his ears, and his head was ducked. Stevie ushered him into the kitchen.

            “What brings ye here to Liverpool?”

            “’Alvaro mostly. And a momentary lapse in judgment and sanity I suppose.”

            Fernando was muttering like he often did and Stevie allowed himself to feel warmth spreading through his heart. He and Fernando had kept in touch, even after everything, but part of him would always miss the younger man.

            “What are you on about, lad?”

            “I didn’t want to come and be the one to tell you this, but I don’t see how you’ll know any other way. Listen, Steven, Alvaro Arbeloa told me to tell you.”

            “Tell me what?”

            “Xabi left his wife. Well, Xabi’s wife left him.”

            As he finished speaking, Fernando watched closely for Stevie’s reaction. His eyes widened and his jaw fell a bit slack. He was completely silent for two beats.

            “What?! Why?!”

            “Listen, Stevie. I don’t know how much I’m supposed to say, but we’re friends. I really want the best for you. And I know about you and Xabi. I was here, remember? I know there’s something between you two, or at least there was. So if you still love him at all, you should call him, okay?”

            “Fer, I don’t think-”

            “This is your chance, Gerrard. I don’t want to see you waste it.”

            There was a glint in Fernando’s eye that assured Stevie that calling Xabi would be a good thing. The last time they talked had been a disaster, but now was his time to make things right. And, if Fernando was correct, maybe make something happen between the two of them. Maybe finally, he would be able to confess his love without being left heartbroken. But before he got his hopes up too high, he needed to call Xabi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! I know its a bit of a cliffhanger, but this is the end. Maybe one day, I will add more to it, but I like leaving the future of Gerlonso open ended. I appreciate all of the feedback I've received. This story has meant a great deal to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Although this can stand on it's own, I sort of want to continue. But I'm not entirely sure. Thoughts? Also, I've been suffering a bit of a drought of finished pieces. I have about a million and ten (literally) little one shot snippet things of various ships that are too short and potentially pointless to post but I'm trying to work on them so maybe I'll be posting more. Sorry for the rambling. But anyway, let me know what you think! 
> 
> I'm a bit nervous to post this, but I love gerlonso so much. So I figured I should just post it. Gah anyway, thank you if you're reading this!


End file.
